


The Silence

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-11
Updated: 2008-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: After confessing what he has secretly wanted for three years, he didn't expect the silence.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

It’s the silence that he can’t take.

 

It took him three years to be able to say what he wanted. To say what he felt like. It took him three years to muster the strength to admit that all those brotherly hugs weren’t exactly that, that the friendly touches meant something completely different, that it was all a cover to hide what he really, in his heart of hearts wanted all along.

 

And now it’s out there, said, in the air, floating like a damn smog between them, making him feel like he never should have said anything, like he never should have dared _to hope_.

 

But in all honesty, he never expected that what he wants, what he hopes, what he _dreams_ about could come true. But in all honesty, he never expected to be turned down so cruelly either.

 

Were the laughing, shouting, cursing, he could take it all. It’s the silence that really burns its mark on him. 

 

Because the silence is unmerciful, brutal, and leaves him empty, so empty it’s almost too much. He wants to take it back, he wants to say it doesn’t mean anything, but now that he _has_ said it, it’s taken a life of its own. It’s real, so real he can almost touch it, and he can’t undo what he has unleashed. 

 

He can almost hear the echo of his words in the air, ridiculing him for the fact that they were not answered, not returned. They bounce of the walls and come back to cut his heart, where they were hidden for three, long years.

 

He closes his eyes, because he would rather hear the door shut behind him and loose all hope than listen to the deadly silence any longer. 

 

And then there are two lips against his; tender, tentative, yet somehow demanding. A tongue, that carefully brushes against his lips, asking, not demanding, for entrance. He wants to open his eyes, wants to look, but he can’t, he can’t because he is so afraid if he does, the magic is gone and he is left with the silence that slowly eats him alive.

 

Two hands cup his face, gently at first. They pull him closer, and he has to step forward just to follow them. And he feels the warmth of a torso more muscular than his, pressing against him as he takes another, shaky step forward. He has dreamed of this for months, _years_ , but now that it’s there, willing him to take it, to enjoy it, he finds himself helpless and scared.

 

“Look at me, Jared.”

 

The silence is broken by words that are whispered, like a caress on his sore skin. He wants to open his eyes, wants to, but he is too scared to face what he has summoned into being. He takes a breath, a gasp, trying to will his tongue to master the words he wants to say, explain how this feels.

 

All he can muster is a whimper.

 

 

The lips are on his again, stronger and more determined than before. They will him to open his mouth, to allow the intrusion. He tilts his head, to make it easier for the muscle between his lips to venture further, taste him, taste him and _ohgod_ he can taste him too. He tastes like summer rain, like a bright morning, and it makes his head spin like the finest wine.

 

“Look at me, Jared.” The words are whispered to his ear, coaxing, inviting, and he would give anything to look, to see the _want_ he can hear in that voice, but he is too scared. 

 

He can feel the hands that cupped his face trail down his torso, feeling his muscles. And he realises, they shake. The want, the need in the voice that still rings in his ears is there, but there is _fear_ in those hands.

 

He opens his eyes, finally, slowly, taking in everything he can, as if he was burning the vision in front of him to his brain. Those green eyes that he has stared into so many times, dreaming, hoping, are dark with something he can’t yet decide, but also _fear_. The same fear he feels pounding on his chest.

 

_What if this is all a dream?_

 

Finally he understands.

 

He takes a breath, leans closer and kisses him, he _kisses_ him like he has wanted to so many times, with all the need he has hidden in himself for far too long. His hands trail down the torso pressed against him, exploring, feeling, touching the places he only ever dreamed of.

 

Against his lips he can feel the sweetest moan, the slightest shudder when his large hands find the achingly hard erection underneath the layers of denim. He can feel the groin pressing against his hand, his stroking fingers, against him. The kiss turns into something more, no more of the soft, questioning touches, it devours him. He can barely keep up when the alien tongue inside his mouth twirls, laps, conquers. 

 

He realises, after it’s already happened, that he is pushed against a wall, his back tightly pressed against the solid surface, fingers opening the buttons of his shirt, teeth against the skin that reveals from underneath the fabric. And then, the sweetest torture he’s ever felt, strong hands pulling his belt, unbuckling, unbuttoning the jeans, and finding the hardness that was hidden underneath.

 

He takes a deep breath through his teeth, his head falls back, banging against the wall, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care because those fingers are _around_ him, stroking, jerking, and he has never felt like that. He has to bring his hand to cover his mouth, because the words and noises he makes are just sinful. 

 

He meets the green eyes again, gasping for air through his fingers, wanting to explain how good, how _good_ it is, but all he can do is cry out. The green eyes glitter, and the fingers unmercifully work his length, slowly, too slowly and yet too fast, because he can feel he’s coming. 

 

He wants to push the hand away, he wants it to stop, because he doesn’t want to come, he doesn’t want to, but he has no strength, he can’t move, save for arching towards those skilful fingers, and he can hear himself saying things he never though he would, begging for it, begging it to stop, begging for more.

 

And suddenly it stops, just before he came undone, just before he lost it. He whimpers, presses his forehead against the shoulder of the other man, only to be pushed up, against the wall, kissed like he never though he could be. And he doesn’t care anymore, he doesn’t care that he shouldn’t say all those things, that he should retain some of his pride. All those things he kept locked behind the veil of friendship come out, pleading.

 

Those strong hands are on his hips now, turning him. He faces the wall, buries his face to it, while he feels his jeans dropping to his knees, feels a slick, moist finger at his entrance, pushing in. And it hurts, but the pain makes him beg for more. Because he knows how good it can be, and this time, it has to be even better.

 

Another finger joins the first, and he leans forward, cries in pain and pleasure when they fuck him, fuck him slowly. He moves with the movement of them, pushes into them and moans like a whore when they spread him wider.

 

And then they’re gone, pulling out from him, and he has to look back. The green eyes meet his, lips swollen from kisses form words he at first can’t understand.

 

“Is this how you wanted it?”

 

No, he wants to scream. Yes, he wants to shout. “Anything.” He says, because he wants it so bad right now he doesn’t care how he gets it.

 

Then it’s there, the throbbing member at his entrance, slick of spit and his own pre come, pushing in. The world goes dark in his eyes for a moment, the pain so sharp it cuts him like a knife. 

 

“Don’t stop.” He whispers, when he realises the other doesn’t move. He can feel the uncertainty, and he looks back, with his eyes trying to message it’s OK. The green eyes flicker unsure for a moment, but when he pushes himself back, taking more of the length of the other into him, the flicker turns into down right fire, and he feels himself pushed against the wall again, the whole member inside him now.

 

And it is so good, it’s better than he dreamed it might be, so much better. And the noises he hears behind him are just plain sin, and they make him want it even more. 

 

The member pushing into him, moving out and thrusting back is driving him mad, but the hand that gently strokes the back of his neck drives him near to insanity. The mix of pain, pleasure, passion, lust and gentleness is almost more than he can take.

 

“Oh _fuck_ , Jen,” He cries when the member in him brushes over his hot spot, and the moan the other man lets out almost alone drives him over the edge.

 

The pace quickens, roughens, and he doesn’t think he can take it much longer. But when the hand, that was just gripping to his hips as if to hold on for dear life finds his aching erection he looses it, so completely looses it he doesn’t even recognise his own voice when it lets out the longest and deepest groan, he doesn’t even control his body when it shakes, shudders, and he comes, comes so hard he swears he can see starts.

 

The pulsing of his orgasm pulls the other man with it, he can feel him shooting his seed into him, he can hear him cry out with a almost animalistic voice, before he collapses onto him, grabbing his sides, shoulders, anything he can hold onto so that he doesn’t fall over.

 

The silence that follows is only broken by panting breaths. He can still hear the echo of his own words, words that unleashed such a force of nature, summoned it into being.

 

“I love you.”

 

He feels a kiss on the back of his neck, a gentle one. And suddenly, the echoes that tormented him have company. The words entangle to his own, sounding like the ones he said, yet completely different still.

 

“I love you.”

 

And the silence that follows them is more than he could ever have hoped.


End file.
